It is said that people who are depressed spend their days sleeping and finding a home within their bed.

But we never hear about the people who can’t.

The ones, who no matter how hard they force their eyes shuts — cannot propel their mind from reality to dream.

Caught in this repetitive time loop of always being awake and constantly being tired.

I’ve been there —
created a home within the sheets
because it was safe.
it was comfortable

In my bed under three blankets was the one place where I felt like I wasn’t going to die.

Anywhere else was a one way ticket to panic city

Finding and holding on to that sense of safety became the only thing of importance.

Eating - nope

Showering - nope

Getting dressed- nope

Nothing made sense other than staying cocooned.

But --

If sleeping is where I found comfort - why do I only sleep about 20 hours a week?

I'm scared.

Scared that I'm going to fall back into being the person that I was — and not the person I’ve worked so hard to be.

Scared that I’ll remember the happy and safe feeling that engulfs us while we are asleep.

Scared that if I go to sleep, my brain will remember how much it likes to be shut off.

Scared because what if that is what my brain prefers.

Scared because what if I give in and I don’t wake up.

Scared